Hello!

Hello Everyone!

First, I want to say thanks.  I received some very nice messages and phone calls as I dealt with the loss of my Nana. She died peacefully in the early morning hours of June 27th with my mom and my aunt by her side. The week of her funeral turned out to be an amazing time to see family, remember her spirit, and soak up the presence of my parents and remaining grandparents. Goodbyes are never easy, but I have to think about all the amazing things her life produced. Not only was she an amazing artist, whose works fill my house now, but she was just the sweetest woman who was loved by so many. I am happy to say that I have witnessed true love: It was watching my 92 year-old Paw-paw say good-bye to my Nana. They've been married for 63 years. How amazing that I got to witness and experience that!

I'm trying to get things back on track. We have traveled around, had some fun, and spent some money, but I am sad to say my summer is already winding down. Maybe the routine will help me get back on track.

So for now, I leave you with a gratuitous puppy pic from our recent travels.  Just because!

Life on Hold

Just when I thought I might be developing a solid plan for my blog, life takes over.

My grandma (I call her Nana) has been battling Alzheimer's for years. She is so strong and creative, it has been heartbreaking to watch her decline.  But the biggest heartbreak is on it's way. She developed a "pressure ulcer" or bedsore a while back, and in one of her rare moments of communication, asked that there be no more hospitals. So they are letting it run its course and infection has set in. She took a turn for the worse last weekend, and they placed her in Hospice care on Monday. I've spent all week bracing and preparing for that dreaded call.

So instead of blogging this week (and in the weeks to come), I am spending time with my kids and husband, calling my mom, looking through old pictures, reading family cookbooks, and journeying back and forth between home and hospitals.  I am finding peace day by day as I honor this amazing woman.

That's my Nana in the pink, helping my son break into his candy stash at Easter. The beautiful woman in blue is my other grandmother, Meemaw.

I hope you will bear with me while I "unplug" for a bit. My Nana loved the internet and had she not faded so much in the last few years, I am sure she would have loved reading all these blogs and Facebook statuses. Still, I feel it only proper to honor her in these last few days by spending time with the people she loved most.

Recipe Roundup

I thought I would share one of my husband's favorite meals. This is a great potluck meal and it freezes really well.

Green Chile Casserole

1-2 lbs. ground beef
1 onion, chopped
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can green chilies, chopped
1 small can evaporated milk
1 pound cheddar cheese
1 package flour tortillas

Tear tortillas into pieces. Brown meat and onion together. Add soups, green chilies and milk. Mix well. Layer tortillas, meat mixture, cheese two times in a 9 x13 or casserole dish. Bake for 30 minutes in a 350 degree oven until bubbly.

Small Town Life

I grew up in a small town and I live in a relatively small town now.  City-dwellers would definitely call my town "small", but compared to where I grew up, it is a veritable metropolis. And by that, we mean that is has a Wal-Mart and a movie theater.

So why small town life? I don't know.  It's just me. I like knowing who people are, and I like knowing who their parents were and what their family is like. I like that it only takes 15 minutes to run to the grocery store. I could keep going on, but I just sound like the "Green Acres" theme song.

In this small town life, there are a few staples or even rites of passage. We got to enjoy one of these last week as we celebrated our little town festival. And every good festival or event needs a parade. I love small town parades.  It is like the best (and sometimes worst) of a community on display.

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During that parade, I had the privilege of watching a float of veterans roll down the street just behind those flags.  I hate being mushy in public, but I had to choke back a little emotion as they made their way by. When they passed, the crowds that lined the streets took a moment to realize just who it was sitting on that float. Several of the men had to have been World War II vets based on their ages. They waved their feeble hands and tipped their Army hats at the crowd. We stood and clapped, then the cheer began to roar down the street. It moved me to see the people who lined the streets to stand and clap and cheer for these men who have made such a difference in our world. I know this moment isn't just specific to small town life, but it still makes me proud.

On another note, we are "celebrating" another rite of passage this weekend for small town life: A garage sale. I hate them, but they are kind of necessary evil in our house!

Have a great weekend!

My Brownie Recipe

Since I am branching out to other topics that I love, I thought I would start with one of my favorites:  Food.  I don't really consider myself a "foodie." While I do love an episode of Top Chef, I am not what you would consider much of technician in the kitchen. I am more of a negotiator.  I love comfort food, have a vicious sweet tooth, and my most used kitchen device is probably my can opener.

But cooking and baking still holds a lot of meaning for me.  There are so many of my memories that center around the taste, smell, and preparation of food. One of my most prized possessions is a binder full of recipes that my Nana typed straight out of her recipe box.  She gave all her grand-daughters copies of that binder for Christmas a few years ago. Oh, to look through those pages and picture the dishes at a family holiday or church potluck.  I love how some things are just called "Church Salad" or "Papa's Favorite Cake."

So one of my earliest memories of cooking came sneaking up on me this week.  When I was in elementary and Jr. High, I used to tag-along with my older sister when she went to these, like, Home Ec parties during the summer. I am sure this event had some specific name, but I don't remember it now.  What I do remember was that the Home Economics teacher . . . Oh, wait. When I say "Home Ec", I am referring to the cooking/sewing class that was taught in my tiny school. In the days before political correctness and Title 9 (all good things, just a different time), all the girls took Home Ec and the boys took Ag. Just the way we were raised and I don't regret it for a second.

Anyway, so the Home Ec teacher would open the huge kitchen/lab/sewing room/living room in our tiny school and they would have this Home Ec class during the summer. You could go up there and use the school's monster, heavy-duty sewing machines and learn to cook a few things. The class was really for my sister, but I loved that kind of stuff, so I went too.

One of the first things I learned to make were Brownies. (I must capitalize out of reverence.)  I somewhere still have the 3x5 index card with my elementary handwriting outlining this recipe, but I don't need it anymore since I've had it memorized for a while. (Not an amazing feat, I can also recite the prologue to Romeo and Juliet as well!)

The sweet-tooth kicked in this week, and so I baked some Brownies. Yum!

And so I share with you, My Brownie Recipe.  Much loved and widely tested. I always think about that first batch in the Home Ec room. They remind me of simpler times, my mom, my sisters, and now my kids who love them too. I hope you enjoy.

Brownies

2 cups sugar

4 eggs

2 cups flour

3-4 Tablespoons Cocoa

pinch of salt

1 tsp. Vanilla

1 cup melted oleo or butter

1/2 cup pecans (optional)

Mix eggs and sugar together. Add the flour, cocoa, and salt. Then add oleo and vanilla. Mix well. Stir in pecans if needed. Bake in a greased 13 x 9 pan for 35 minutes or until barely done.

True Life

True Story:

My daughter has run away twice in the past two weeks.

Now "running away" might be a bit of a hyperbole, but I can't keep the dang girl in the yard. She's five and she thinks she's independent--it's a constant, epic battle of the wills around here. She met a little girl down the street and will pretty much do ANYTHING to try and go down to her house. This wouldn't be so bad, but she's got this damn scooter . . . and well, I swear she like flies when she gets on it.

Tonight, my son was going to walk his friend halfway home--it's like a block and he's almost nine. I think this is a reasonable thing for an almost-nine-year-old to get to do. He and his friend leave out the front door, and moments later, I hear that ominous click that the garage door makes. I head out the front door and spot a little pink shirt flying down the street, AND THEN SHE CROSSES THE STREET!!

At this point, I am mad and scared and a little more mad. I can see her, I know she is ok, but she is all the way down the dang street. So I jump in the car (there is no way I could have caught her without vehicular assistance) and drive down the street to get her. I roll down my window, yell her name in my meanest mommy voice, and get out to load her and her scooter into my car. There was a very docile-looking refugee family standing by their vehicle watching as all this is taking place. I'm sure they thought I was kidnapping her, but they did not call the police.

I drove her home while she cried in the backseat. I have hidden her scooter and she is grounded from dessert. (You have to take away what they love.) We are all safe and sound.

And I know this will not be the last of my battles with her. She is strong-willed, creative, unique, and passionate. She's better than any character I could ever create.

Back in action!

April seems to be the month when I catch the writing bug. In April 2008, I was on the fourth straight day of standardized testing, my best friend was sequestered at home while she endured chemo, and I couldn't grade papers due to testing rules. Locked in my classroom with kids I didn't know, I started my first book. I watched those teenagers and realized how much I liked telling their stories. I started to make up scenarios about the very students sitting in my room. It wasn't hard. I didn't know too much about them, so my ideas weren't terribly tainted with reality. It was all fiction in my head, and I loved it.

I came home from school that day and started scribbling the ideas on a legal pad. I think I wrote about 5,000 words those first couple of days. The story just came pouring out. My first two "real" characters, Anna and Daniel were born. Not nearly as messy as real babies. And I was hooked.

But eventually the ideas slow down. Eventually my family demands to be fed. All productivity slows or even stops.

Those characters are never far away. They talk to me in the shower. They show up in my dreams. I hear kids at the mall make comments, and I think "Anna would say that."

Last week I got to attend a conference in San Antonio and hear Will Hobbs speak. His stories are fun and adventuresome, very different from my teenage love drama, but he said a few things that really stuck with me.

One: He started writing and eight short years later, he was published. It's great to hear a real publishing story. Not the I-wrote-a-book-in-my-sleep-and-publishers-threw-money-at-me story.

Two: One of his characters is based on a former student, he even named her. I will keep making up stories for those kids I see in my room every day. I love them too much not to!

So, off I go. The ideas are here and I must be a good hostess.

Speaking up for SPEAK

Several years ago I did a unit of Literature Circles with a group of students. The process of Lit Circles has students choose novels and the students who read the same novel work their way through the book together. The few years that I have done this, I usually choose a book and read with a group as well.

One year, I chose to read the novel Speak with a group. That year the group happened to be all girls--there were three of them, and I made member number four.

I remember talking about how sassy Melinda was, how we loved how she nicknamed her teachers, and that we ached for her lonely situation. One of the girls in the group was very artistic and made wonderful art pieces to go along with the book.

I got to "the scene" before the girls did, so I knew what was coming, but I was unprepared for their reaction. They had read that part on their own, and then we were to have a discussion. I remember that day as the girls sat kind of quietly for a while, we didn't really know what to say. Then one of girls looked up at the rest of us and there were tears streaming down her face. We all froze; we all knew what she was trying to say. One of the other girls reached over and grabbed her hand. I knew if she wanted to talk, she would, and I did the only thing I could think of--I read the next part to them. I wanted desperately to show them that Melinda was okay, that she was able to overcome what happened to her. I remember looking up to see those hands clasped together as I read to them. It still chokes me up to this day. A few days later, the girl came up to my desk during class, her copy of Speak in her hands, and asked to go see the counselor. She seemed like a weight had been removed from her shoulders. She never told us her story, she didn't need to, Melinda told it for us.

The power of this novel speaks volumes. Students and teens must have a chance to read this book. Taking this book away from students or calling it "soft porn" is the same ignorance that took Melinda's voice away. We must continue letting this story get to students and the world.
I had the good fortune of meeting Laurie Halse Anderson a few years ago. I wanted to tell her this story of my student, but just got choked up instead. That's the power of this book. It speaks for us--for all of us.

For more information about Laurie Halse Anderson or the article that is misleading people about her book, please visit her blog and please SPEAK up for her book.

Nostalgia

It's fall in West Texas and that means that there is one thing on the minds of a lot of people--Football. We started school last week and already, here they come, young men in their ties and jerseys, ready for Friday Night Football.

We went to our first game Friday. The weather was perfect. The kiddos dressed in the school colors, Little Miss A even wore her tiny cheerleading uniform for her special half-time performance with the other 40-50 little girls from the summer camp. As I kneeled on the track snapping countless photos of my little girl dancing on that field, I was transported. Who wouldn't be? I love the lights shining down in a stadium, I love the cheering crowds, and I love hope that comes when those uniforms come out. I actually missed the first two touchdowns because I was just taking it all in.

I have been doing this all my life--going to football games. I can think of so many memories that started or ended at a football game.

And I know again why I write Young Adult books. Because for me, that the THE TIME. There were so many beginnings and endings, so many football games, so many memories that come out of those years, so many possibilities. It's worth writing down.

I can't say it all myself, but this video helps. Enjoy!

Corey Haim on the Brain

When I was younger, my mom didn't allow us to hang posters on our wall. I know it is a rite of passage to do that, but I totally understood where she was coming from because our old house had this intricate wooden panelling that wouldn't hold a thumbtack--it was nearly impossible to get a tack into the panelling. (Sorry, Mom, I did try a few times. . .) As a compromise, she allowed us to hang some stuff on our closet door. My sisters had lots of pictures they put up, and I chose one. It was a picture of Corey Haim that I got out of one of those "Teen Beat" kind of magazines. I chose it because I loved him, and it was similar to this:



My teenage self cried a little when the news of Corey Haim's death came in this week and it got my thinking about what life was like in the days of Corey Haim posters on my wall. I remember thinking about what I would say to him if I met him, I envisioned myself opposite to him in movies--y'know, normal teenage girl stuff. (At least I hope that is normal!) And I got to thinking about my book, because well, I am always thinking about my book, and I thought about falling in love with people we have never met. It was like those daydreams allowed me to experience "practice" feelings before they really happened. I think that is what a lot of young adult books do for teens now. They give them a chance to have "safe" vicarious feelings without the risk of real broken hearts or even real rejection.

I am still glad I got to live in a world that had a Corey Haim.